


Beautiful, Dirty, Rich

by goldstandard



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: daredevilkink, F/M, Foggy is a Sharpe, Gen, rich kids, some casual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstandard/pseuds/goldstandard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franklin P. Sharpe II is your typical rich kid with the typical always-too-busy-for-you lawyer of a mother, Rosalind Sharpe. He has a small group of friends (read: Marci) and doesn't need anybody else. Until a blind kid stumbles into his dorm room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful, Dirty, Rich

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the kinkmeme prompt where Rosalind doesn't abandon Foggy - instead, he grows up with her instead of his father.
> 
> Prompt can be found here: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/3230.html?thread=7462558#cmt7462558
> 
> This fill was originally posted back in August and I've just been too lazy until now to actually post it here. There's been a couple small edits but nothing majorly changed.
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes. Un-beta'ed.
> 
> Title is from a Lady Gaga song with the same namesake.

Franklin P. Sharpe II grows up in what he believes is your typical middle class New York family. He lives in Hell’s Kitchen with his father, Edward Nelson, and his mother, Rosalind Sharpe, until he’s five years old.

Then, his parents get divorced and Rosalind gains full custody of Franklin. His father gets weekend visitation rights. They move to the Upper West Side and Franklin learns very quickly the commands, ‘No’ and ‘Don’t touch’.

By the time he turns thirteen, Franklin is tired of splitting his time between his parents. His father calls him Foggy and lets him stay up late to eat pizza and watch scary movies. Rosalind calls him Franklin, pushes him to be his best, and he’s always in bed by ten – put there by the maid, Clara.

Edward gets a girlfriend, Anna. Franklin hates her. She’s everything Rosalind isn’t. She’s sweet and kind; she hugs him all the time and always buys him his favorite chocolate bar. Anna represents the perfect mother and he hates her for not being his.

“I don’t want to go,” Franklin whines to Clara, standing at the door of their apartment, suitcase held tightly in his right hand.

“Franklin,” Clara sighs with softness in her voice. She treats him like her own son, Junior, and Franklin wishes every day she wouldn’t. He’s tired of everyone who isn’t his mother acting like they are.

“No,” Franklin states, a coldness in his voice he learnt from Rosalind – it got her everything she wanted, why shouldn’t it work for him? “I’m not going. I never want to see them again.”

Throwing his suitcase to the ground he stalks off to his bedroom, locking the door and ignoring Clara’s kind words.

Rosalind gives him a rare smile the next time she sees him – almost 48 hours after he was supposed to go to his father’s. It’s sharp and reminds him of barbed wire. Franklin practices perfecting his own in the mirror.

In high school, he takes one of those career tests. He gets politician, lawyer, doctor. All high aspirations but he knows which one he wants, which one he was always going to be.

He attends NYU for his undergraduate. Rosalind isn’t impressed. She’s even more unimpressed when he passes up Harvard for Columbia. He hasn’t rebelled too much in his entire life so she lets him have this one. That doesn’t mean he avoids the digs or the jabs at his intellect and the constant reassurances that he’ll never amount to anything.

The truth of the matter is Franklin doesn’t want to attend Harvard because Rosalind teaches a mandatory class there. He wants to try and create some sort of life outside the shadow of his mother’s.

Franklin moves into the dorms at Columbia and blanches when he sees two beds instead of the private room he requested. He calls the housing department in a rage but is quickly informed the paperwork he submitted clearly states he requested shared accommodations not private. Rosalind is a crafty bitch.

A couple hours after his arrival (of which he spent an hour contemplating burning the 300-thread count sheets) his roommate arrives. And he’s blind. Of course he fucking is. Franklin wonders if Rosalind set this up, as well.

“Matt Murdock,” the man says while offering out a hand. Franklin is nothing but polite and shakes it.

“Franklin Sharpe.”

Matt freezes in place at the name.

“As in Rosalind Sharpe?”

If Franklin thought he wouldn’t get that here he must have been delusional.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

Matt shakes his head and retreats to his side of the room. He’s smart, Franklin will give him that.

“Nope.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the evening. Or even the next day. They both spend most of it doing orientation, getting their ID cards, and finishing the day off with a rousing mixer hosted by the Greek letter organizations. Or rather, Matt does – Franklin retreats back to the dorm.

Matt returns around one in the morning, startling Franklin awake as he stumbles over shoes left haphazardly in the middle of the room.

“Sorry,” Matt whispers, a bit slurred, and crawls the rest of the way to his bed. Or rather, what he must believe is his bed because he ends up trying to climb on top of Franklin.

“Hey,” Franklin hisses and shoves Matt back to the ground.

“Sorry,” Matt repeats and crawls to the right bed this time. “Too much to drink.”

Franklin rolls his eyes – he hopes he hasn’t been roomed with some blind drunk. He’ll be transferring before the week is over, he can feel it.

As it is, he ends up not making that request. Matt doesn’t go out drinking again. He actually turns into a model roommate. He stays on his side of the room, cleans up after himself, and only talks to Franklin about classes they share.

Franklin spends most of his time outside of class with Marci Stahl. They’ve actually known each other since they were kids – his mother and her father had a fling at some point. Two stuck up rich adults putting their two stuck up rich kids together would always end in disaster.

Marci still likes to joke about that time she got arrested for underage drinking and Franklin wetting his pants like the spoiled white boy he was. Franklin likes to bring up the fact that he took her virginity no matter what she tells the frat boys. Marci is the only one, besides his father, who’s allowed to call him Foggy.

Matt catches them having sex two months in to the school year.

Marci has a private room but says she likes the danger of getting caught. Franklin sees the way she looks at Matt, who is very attractive, and he suspects that she’s hoping to force the blind man’s hand into a threesome. Franklin wouldn’t disagree too loudly to the activity.

“Like what you see?” Marci asks, cruelly, not stopping her pace as she rides him.

Matt stammers, face turning bright red. He seems frozen to the floor, not sure where to run to.

“Either leave,” Marci says, cutting herself off with a gasp as Franklin thrusts up a little harder than he’s been doing so far. “O-or, join the fun.”

Matt is gone within seconds and Marci’s laughter is quickly replaced with moans.

Matt confronts Franklin about the situation the very next day.

“We need to have some ground rules, I think,” Matt begins, business face on despite the red creeping up his neck.

Franklin grins.

“So, you’re down for the threesome, then? Marce will be delighted.”

Matt is stuttering again and Franklin just laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, going easy on the poor guy.

“Oh,” Matt says, face scrunching up a bit in confusion like he doesn’t get the joke. Franklin assumes he doesn’t. “Right, well, next time lock the door or something, okay?”

Franklin nods. He may be an asshole but he’s not that big of a dick. Well, not when there’s nothing to gain from it.

The next few months go by too quickly – Franklin spends most of his time either drinking with Marci or studying. Soon, it’s finals and Franklin feels unprepared.

“I told you,” Rosalind says over the phone. It crackles and Franklin wonders where she is with such bad reception. “You should have gone to Harvard. I know everybody here – you wouldn’t be having any trouble.”

Franklin glances across the room to Matt who’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, noise-canceling headphones strapped to his head and fingers moving quickly across a textbook.

“I don’t need you to favor my way into a law degree,” Franklin hisses into the phone. It’s moments like these that make him even happier he didn’t go to Harvard.

“I think I know Professor Rutovitch. I could give him a call,” Rosalind continues on, ignoring Franklin as usual.

Matt shifts on his bed and his fingers are slowing down. Franklin turns so his back is to him.

“You’re not listening, you never do – I don’t need your help. Do not talk to any of my professors.”

“I need to go, Franklin,” Rosalind says, calm and ignorant as ever. “Ta-ta.”

Franklin stares at his phone and wants to throw it against the wall. Make Rosalind buy him a new one. But he doesn’t. Instead, he holds a pillow up to his face and screams into it.

“You okay?” Matt asks softly and Franklin whips around. Matt has the headphones pushed off one of his ears, concern evident in his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Fuck off,” Franklin bites out and ignores the surprise in Matt’s face. While they’ve never gotten on like two peas in a pod they’ve never been outright hostile to each other. Franklin grabs a textbook and storms out of the room.

He rants and raves at Marci who nods aimlessly from her bed until he’s run out of things to say.

“Foggy-bear,” she says, soft and sweet, everything that isn’t Marci. “Come here.”

She holds out her arms and he curls up in them. He lets her stroke his hair until he falls asleep.

Two days later, they have three exams left. Franklin can see Matt slowly having a mental breakdown. It starts with the snapping at Georgia Ramsey in Criminal Law after she accidentally bumped into Matt on their way out of class. It ends with Matt curled up in the fetal position under his comforter.

Franklin leaves him alone for two hours and twenty-nine minutes. It is not his place to intrude on what a man does in bed. But, at two hours and twenty-eight minutes, Franklin realizes he hasn’t seen Matt move in two hours and fifteen minutes. He hopes, when he pokes the Matt shaped lump, which he is going to do at exactly two hours and thirty minutes, that Matt isn’t a corpse.

“What?” Matt muffles through blanket and Franklin is very glad he’s alive.

“Just checking to make sure you’re not dead.”

“Like you care,” Matt retorts and Franklin frowns. He’s not the nicest guy but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Okay, he doesn’t about most people but this is Matt – the guy he’s been sharing a room with for the past five months, he’s grown to be more than indifferent to this person.

“Of course I care – I can’t have a dead body stinking the whole place up.”

“Just leave me alone.”

Franklin sighs. He sits on his bed for another eighteen minutes before he goes back to Matt’s and rips the covers off.

Matt is dressed to the nines with sweatpants and a hoodie and woolen socks.

“What the fuck?” Franklin breathes out and Matt just tightens up his fetal position.

“Okay, no,” Franklin continues and grabs onto Matt’s arm, trying to pull him up and out of the bed. Matt becomes dead weight and Franklin can’t move him.

Franklin continues, can feel the sweat building on his forehead, and he’s probably going to pop Matt’s shoulder out if he doesn’t move. He mentions this out loud. It seems to trigger something in Matt’s mind because he starts struggling, kicking his feet out to push at Franklin’s pudgy stomach.

“Stop it,” Matt grits out. “Leave me alone.”

“Not until,” Franklin gasps. “You leave this bed.”

Matt goes limp and they’re flying through the air towards the floor.

“You motherfucker,” Franklin wheezes after they hit the hardwood.

Suddenly, they’re wrestling. Franklin is shoving his hand into Matt’s face and Matt is kicking wildly. Then, the hair pulling starts. Franklin bites Matt’s arm until they’re pulling away from each other, lying on their backs and panting at the ceiling.

“What the hell is your problem?” Matt spits.

“You mostly,” Franklin retorts and they’re back at it.

Matt throws a punch that smacks Franklin right off him. Franklin groans, lightly touching at the already smarting cheek.

“Holy shit,” Franklin whines.

“Sorry,” Matt says although he doesn’t sound too apologetic. Franklin waves off the apology anyways.

“It’s okay, I deserved it.”

Matt snorts and Franklin lets out a laugh.

“Whatta bunch of assholes,” Matt cracks in a horrible Jersey accent and it sets Franklin off laughing despite the pain in his face.

“Fuck off, Murdock,” Franklin cries through his shit eating grin.

They manage to make it through finals – Matt sets the curve high and Franklin curses him daily for it – and come out the other side friends.

Marci isn’t too thrilled at the idea.

“Franklin,” she whispers in his ear, eyes darting to the left to stare at Matt whom they left at the bar with Josie sloppily filling their glasses. “Him? Really?”

“He’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Franklin states and then heads back to his stool before Marci can continue spewing bullshit.

“Hey,” Franklin mutters and Matt raises his whiskey glass in greeting.

“Okay, against my better judgment,” Marci begins as she slips onto the stool on the other side of Matt. “Foggy here wants to be your friend so I suppose I’m along for the ride.”

“Foggy?” Matt echoes, smile tugging at his lips, and Franklin rolls his eyes.

“Thanks, Marce,” Franklin says before sighing. “Yeah, my nickname is Foggy but only two people call me that.”

Matt nods, soft smile still hanging around as he sips his drink.

“I’m guessing I’m not one of them, huh?”

Franklin grins – Matt really is the smartest guy in the class.

“Hole in one. And for that astute observation, next rounds on me.”

They raise their glasses to the completion of finals, to the beginning of Christmas holidays, and to being one-eighth of the way finished law school.

“To surviving,” Matt mutters and they clink their glasses together.

Franklin returns a week later from a hellish Christmas ready to study his brains out and prove to Rosalind what he’s truly worth.

The dorm has a thin layer of dust on everything that isn’t Matt’s bed or side table. Franklin doesn’t ask what Matt got up to over the holidays and Matt doesn’t question him.

“Franklin,” Rosalind states as he answers his phone one evening. “There is an event you must attend. Everyone will be there.”

Franklin rolls his eyes. Rosalind always warns him that one day they’re going to roll right out of his head.

“And by everyone you mean…” he trails off, knowing she’ll easily fill in the gap.

“Everyone you need to know to further your career.”

“Ah,” Franklin says non-committedly. Instead of listening he watches Matt across the room struggle with his tangled up headphone cord. Franklin stifles a snort as Matt somehow knots the cord around his hands.

“Are you even listening to me, Franklin?” Rosalind’s pointed voice cuts into his brain.

“Yeah,” Franklin huffs out.

“This Friday at seven, okay? I will send you the details. Please try to be presentable.”

Franklin checks his phone to make sure Rosalind has ended the call before he bites out a, ‘Bitch’ to the inanimate object.

Matt is looking a little pathetic, trying to pick at the knotted cord tangled in his fingers.

“Everything okay?” Matt asks.

Franklin bursts out into laughter at the image of Matt’s furrowed, concerned face, and the sorry state his headphones are in. He eventually calms down enough to help Matt disentangle himself.

“It’s my mother. There’s a party. Should be fun.”

Even though they’ve warmed up to each other, Franklin still isn’t comfortable sharing all the sordid details of his life with Matt. Growing up, it was always Marci by his side. She could relate – her father was literally the male version of Rosalind. Matt grew up in Catholic orphanage. That pretty much explains everything.

“A party?”

Franklin sighs and places the now untangled cord on Matt’s beside table.

“Yes, of the rich and famous. Although, honestly, they’re only famous to other rich people.”

Matt is nodding, biting his lip.

“Spit it out, Murdock,” Franklin mutters.

“Well, if it’s good to make connections,” Matt hesitantly says. ‘Then, it can’t be too bad, right?”

Franklin snorts and collapses on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“As someone who has grown up around these people – yeah it can be.”

Something tugs in Franklin’s brain and he kind of hates himself when he voices his thoughts.

“You should come.”

“What?” Matt asks, shocked. “You want me? To go to a stuck up event? With you? What about Marci?”

Franklin shrugs.

“Eh, she’ll be there anyways. Her father is George Stahl. He would be burned alive at the stake before he missed a chance to lord his wealth over others.”

Matt is silent for a long time. Franklin doesn’t bother to re-open the subject or look to see what Matt’s doing. He’ll just fall asleep like this.

“Yeah, okay,” Matt finally says and Franklin rolls his eyes.

“Great. This Friday. 7pm. You better have a nice suit.”

Matt does have a nice suit. Franklin fully admits he is straight up staring. But then again, so is Marci.

“So,” Marci elongates the vowel, eyes sweeping Matt’s entire body. “Threesome may be out but how about a twosome – just you and I, Murdock?”

“But-what-I-“ Matt stutters and Marci laughs. It’s light and airy and Franklin hates it. He remembers when it used to be nasally, full-bodied, and would sometimes incorporate a snort. That laugh was gone by the time they were twelve.

“Marci’s such a tease,” Franklin delightfully says. “Don’t worry – she won’t jump you without your consent.”

“But,” Matt tries again and starts to look like a fish of water.

“If you can’t use your words now,” Marci says sternly, just like her father. “They’ll eat you alive tonight.”

“And what a horrible lawyer you’ll make,” Franklin tags on.

Matt gets a furious look on his face and Franklin’s lips twitch.

“I am going to be a great lawyer,” Matt says, determined and very angry. “Fuck you guys.”

Marci grins and claps her hands.

“Oh, Murdock, we’ll make you into one of us yet.”

“Anyways,” Matt continues. “Aren’t you two together?”

Marci cackles – literally cackles – and Franklin would be smacking her in the arm if he weren’t having trouble standing up due to laughing so hard.

“Okay, that is not a weird assumption to make,” Matt appeals over their laughter.

“No, no, it’s not – we’re not –“ Marci tries, waving her arms around.

“You’re so innocent,” Franklin chokes out.

Matt stands there, arms crossed, pissed off look on his face, until Franklin and Marci get themselves together.

“Okay, okay,” Marci breathes, fanning her face. “I need to check my makeup.”

Before she can leave the room to head to the bathroom, Franklin holds out his hand into which she deposits a silver flask pulled from her tiny purse.

“Want some?” Franklin offers Matt after taking a swig. Vodka and orange juice – Marci’s favorite.

“What is it?” Matt sniffs and Franklin just pushes the flask into his hand.

“Party favor.”

Matt takes a sip and immediately makes a face.

“You guys are assholes,” Matt mutters before taking a bigger drink.

“Born and raised.”

The party is in full swing by the time they get there. And by full swing, Franklin means the classical music has already started and the hors d’oeuvres are being circled.

“Franklin, glad you could make it,” Rosalind says with air kisses to his cheek. She does the same to Marci but pauses when she gets to Matt. “Oh, you’ve brought a friend.”

“Yes, mother,” he dutifully replies, ignoring the obvious disgust on her face. He knows she can hide it and that she’s choosing not to.

“Yes, well, lovely to meet you.” She doesn’t air kiss Matt or spare a second thought on him the moment the words are off her tongue.

“Franklin,” Rosalind coos, slipping her arm into his and dragging him into the crowd. “You must simply meet Julianne Dresden – she has the most interesting practice.”

The next two hours are spent mingling. Franklin continues to catch Marci’s eye throughout the evening. She grins the shark grin they used to practice on each other as her hand trails up the bicep of some sixty-year-old man. Matt is nowhere to be found. Franklin saw him once, standing in a circle of people by the fireplace, but that was fifteen minutes into the night and he hasn’t seen Matt since.

Franklin makes his escape after Marci’s father captures all of Rosalind’s attention for a couple minutes. He makes his way to the balcony and steps out to find Matt with three older men, all of whom seem to be smoking cigars.

Matt is too polite for his own good, obviously not wanting to be there but seemingly trapped in a conversation about politics and a cloud of smoke.

“Gentlemen,” Franklin calls, immediate schmooze face on. He introduces himself, shakes hands, and grins all the while discussing the merits of Jeb Bush becoming the republican presidential nominee over Ted Cruz.

The conversation lulls as James Blanchford starts talking about his latest trip to Uganda. Franklin takes the time to shimmy by Henry Metz to discreetly tug on Matt’s suit jacket. They turn to get away from the group when Justin Piers calls out to them.

“If us old men have to suffer through James’ holiday stories you can’t escape that easily.”

The men laugh and Franklin blends in. He elbows Matt when he realizes Matt isn’t laughing along. Matt gives the fakest chuckle ever before turning and practically running away.

“First party – Cinderella’s a bit shy,” Franklin stage whispers to more laughter.

He finds Matt in the, thankfully, empty bathroom.

“What the fuck, man?” Franklin hisses to Matt’s back.

Matt stands slumped over the middle sink, head dipped forward. Franklin is glad he made Matt slick back his hair a bit otherwise it’d be falling in front of his very pained face.

“Sorry,” Matt mutters. “Overwhelmed.”

“Well, buck up because I didn’t invite you here to embarrass me.”

Matt’s shoulders tense up.

“I thought you invited me because we’re friends.”

Franklin gives his calculated, cold chuckle – the one that is a carbon copy of Rosalind’s. Marci had given him his very first blowjob the day he got that down pat.

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

He had invited Matt because they were becoming more than acquaintances but being in a room with a hundred people just like his mother always brought the worst out in Franklin. Faking every emotion, every laugh, every movement was tiresome and grating and sometimes Franklin just let it take over.

“You really are an asshole,” Matt breathes out, shaking his head as a strand of hair pops out and grazes his forehead.

“Yes, I am, thank you for noticing. Now, get your fucking act together or leave.”

Matt finally looks up into the mirror and Franklin realizes Matt’s sunglasses are trapped under one of his hands on the counter. Brown, unfocused eyes seem to stare through the mirror at Franklin and he feels a bit hot under the collar. Matt nods.

“Fine, whatever.”

Matt shoves his sunglasses back on and leaves.

“Oh, thank God,” Rosalind moans beside Franklin once he emerges from the bathroom and confirms Matt left the party altogether. “I’m glad you tried something new but the sympathy vote always backfires.”

She pulls harshly on the end of Franklin’s hair.

“Now, let’s discuss barbers, shall we?”

Franklin keeps his face neutral until he can make his departure, as well.

The following week is interesting in their dorm room. It’s like there’s an invisible line splitting the room in half for the amount of time either of them cross out of their space and into the other. Matt drinks the rest of the milk without replacing it; Franklin blasts his music until Matt is retreating from the room.

Matt, actually, doesn’t seem to sleep in their room anymore. Franklin has no idea where he goes. And he doesn’t care. Until Marci forces him to.

“He’s not sleeping at all,” Marci informs Franklin during one study date turned movie night.

“What?” Franklin asks while turning his head on her lap to look up. Marci cards her fingers through his hair and nods. “He has to sleep sometime.”

“Well, according to Julia Takayama – you know her, her dad owns Masa in Midtown –“ Franklin nods so Marci will continue even though he has no fucking idea who Julia Takayama is. “Well, she does the overnight shift in the library and said he’s been there every night studying.”

Franklin makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Julia said she’s seen him doze off for a couple minutes here and there but that’s it.”

Franklin turns his head back to the television. The screen blurs as Franklin stares at it, thoughts rolling around like tumbleweeds in his head.

“Foggy?” Marci whispers just as an explosion in the movie fills up the room.

“I’m fine,” he replies and they don’t talk for the rest of the night.

It takes Franklin another three days before he breaks the radio silence between him and Matt.

“Look,” Franklin starts while Matt is unpacking books from his backpack and shoving some new ones in. “My behavior at the party was not ideal.”

Matt snorts but doesn’t say a word. Franklin grimaces.

He’s never really had to apologize for anything before. When he was younger, it seemed to be the only word that came out of his mouth whenever Rosalind was around. As he grew older, as he became more compliant and his heart grew a little icier, it was never expected of him to apologize. He was a Sharpe and they did what they want whenever they wanted. Franklin can’t even remember a time him and Marci have ever apologized to each other and they’ve done some pretty fucked up shit to one another.

“You have to sleep some time,” Franklin mutters and Matt stills for a moment. His movements become a little bit more uncoordinated after that. A pen bounces out of the backpack and skitters across the floor.

“We’re not friends. You don’t care.”

Franklin sighs and runs a hand over his face.

“You’re right – we’re not friends. I’m a shitty rich kid and you’re the poor blind guy.”

“So, what then? Feeling sorry for me?” Matt ducks under his bed, fingers feeling around trying to find the lost pen. “I don’t need your pity or charity.”

“And I’m not giving any.”

Matt pulls himself out from under the bed, pen clasped tightly in his hand.

“Could have fooled me,” Matt huffs.

“Alright, I’m sorry, are you happy?” Franklin is not happy about saying that but a dopey little smile appears for a split second on Matt’s face and it’s maybe not the worst thing ever.

“No, I’m not, but it’s a start.”

Matt leaves for class but returns later that night and actually sleeps in his bed.

Summer arrives too quickly for Franklin. Three months of bumming around avoiding Rosalind isn’t exactly his ideal version of summer vacation.

Marci bids him farewell the first week of June as she jets off to Vegas then Costa Rica. She invites him, she always does, but Franklin hates the hot weather. New York summers irritate him as it is. He happily holes himself up in the air-conditioned apartment playing Grand Theft Auto 5 every day.

Rosalind click clacks her way through the house on occasion, spending most of her time up in Cambridge doing who knows what. When she’s in town she berates Franklin about his hippy hair, about his horrible eating habits, and about the video games rotting his brain. Franklin berates her back for her coffee stained teeth, the gray roots coming in beneath chemically-induced blonde hair, and most importantly, the wrinkles in her forehead.

Each time Rosalind leaves, she hugs Franklin and whispers in his ear, ‘Only you can make yourself better.’ It’s the one thing he looks forward to when it comes to Rosalind.

Bess Mahoney stops by every day at 10am on the dot. She was hired when Franklin was fifteen and he loves everything about her. She’s crass and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Franklin has always confided in her when he felt he couldn’t go to Marci and Bess always tells him how it is. In a world of professional liars and backstabbers it’s refreshing to Franklin. 

Bess’ son, Brett, was another story altogether. When Bess was hired, a couple months before summer holidays, she had introduced Franklin and Brett. They instantly hated each other. Brett asked too many questions and was on the path towards becoming a cop or a detective. Franklin wanted nothing to do with the boy. He hated the do-good attitude and the way he was obviously a momma’s boy. Marci told Franklin he was being a hypocrite – he was tied to Bess’ hip in every way, as well.

Then, that first summer, Bess brought Brett around every day. He was fifteen, same age as Franklin, but was never left at home alone. Franklin used to ask Brett where all his friends were, why didn’t he have anybody to hang out with. Brett would turn the tables on Franklin – ask him how Marci could put up with his sniveling, fat face. Franklin and Brett started having angry make outs soon after that. It escalated into hurried blowjobs but nothing more. Franklin was also pretty sure Marci and Brett were fooling around on the sly but could never confirm anything and that was one thing Marci kept her lips sealed about.

Summer ended and him and Brett didn’t see each other until the following holiday when they were both sixteen. Franklin had convinced himself Marci and him were meant to be and Brett had decided he wasn’t gay. Both were delusions that carried them until they were eighteen. They never hooked up again and that underlying tension never dissolved until it festered into a more substantial, respectful hate.

“Franklin,” Bess says and he tunes into her. She’s standing in the kitchen, apron on, spatula pointing in his face. “Are you even listening to me, boy?”

Franklin grins and nods.

“Always, my sweet Bess.”

She rolls her eyes and goes back to the pancakes she’s cooking for brunch since Franklin confessed he hadn’t eaten anything yet.

“As I was saying,” Bess continues and flips the pancakes with ease, patting them lightly with the kitchen tool. “Don’t starve yourself because of what your mother says.”

Franklin’s grin diminishes and he rolls his eyes at Bess’ back. She was always passing treats and goodies into Franklin’s hands. He had always been a pudgy boy but by the time he was fourteen his doctor had informed Rosalind his eating habits needed to be changed for health reasons. Rosalind, always the over achiever, had gone to the deep end and kept putting Franklin on ridiculous fad diets. He remembers one month where all he ate were eggs. Franklin hates eggs.

When Bess started working for them, Franklin was only allowed uncooked vegetables and food smoothies. Bess kept silent in front of Rosalind but as soon as she was gone – from the house or from the state – Franklin was fed full meals of chicken and steak and potatoes. He would find muffins on his bedside table when he woke and containers of homemade baked cookies or dessert bars. Franklin hadn’t been exactly starving without Bess – Marci was always stuffing sandwiches and chips into his backpack and he would always stop for ice cream on his way home from school. But, Franklin enjoyed the treats Bess left him. Everything was made from scratch – a luxury Franklin hadn’t had since he’d stopped visiting his father.

Rosalind had always been baffled how Franklin never seemed to be losing weight but when he continued to gain she became furious. She had tried to blame Bess and there had been a very loud, very nasty verbal argument between Franklin and Rosalind over it. When Franklin turned sixteen he told Rosalind he was going to eat whatever the hell he wanted and if she couldn’t deal with that he would be moving out to go live with his father. The look on Rosalind’s face, like she had eaten a lemon full of razorblades, was forever imprinted in Franklin’s mind.

“You know that Rosalind has no say,” Franklin says absentmindedly, plucking the twines of his fork, swinging back and forth a bit on the swivel chair at the kitchen island.

“Just because she doesn’t say the words out loud doesn’t mean they aren’t living in your head,” Bess counters, piling pancakes on a plate.

Franklin is thankful his phone buzzes beside his elbow. He glances down and sees a text message from Matt.

Hey, is all it reads. Franklin frowns but doesn’t reply. The plate being pushed in front of him by Bess preoccupies him.

“You’re the best,” Franklin says, mouth watering at the smell of them. “Love of my life, run away with me.”

Bess full-body laughs as she pulls the syrup and butter from the fridge.

“I believe Brett would take up issue.”

Franklin reaches for the butter when his phone buzzes again.

What’s up?

He ignores his phone again in favor of delicious carbs. He’s cutting into them happily with his fork while Bess hums to herself when the phone goes off a third time.

Can you please call me. It’s urgent.

“Sounds like you’re popular today,” Bess comments before exiting the kitchen area and heading down the hall. Franklin listens to her open the washing machine door and start passing the laundry into the dryer.

“What’s up, dude?” Franklin asks, mouth full of pancakes, as Matt answers his phone.

“What?” Matt replies loudly over the sounds of vehicles.

“I said,” Franklin tries again, swallowing down the fluffy goodness. “What’s up?”

“Ah, well, you see,” Matt pauses as he apologizes to somebody. “Look, my accommodations didn’t work out and I just need somewhere to stay tonight until I figure it out.”

Franklin frowns but doesn’t say anything. He’s not going to offer anything up – Matt needs to use his words and ask for what he wants.

“Franklin, I-“ Matt sighs then curses under his breath. “Can I crash at your place tonight? I’ll be gone in the morning.”

Franklin watches Bess carry a basket of warm laundry through the living room and to the other side of the apartment where Rosalind’s bedroom is. She stops to turn a picture frame two inches to the right before continuing on her way. It’s a photo of Franklin and his father at a baseball game.

“Franklin?”

“Yeah, sure,” Franklin finally responds, turning back to his pancakes.

Matt shows up, suitcase in tow, and spends the next hour alternating between stuffing whatever Bess cooks into his mouth and profusely thanking Franklin for letting him crash.

“You can’t let him leave,” Bess says when she pulls Franklin aside under the pretense of linens or something. “He’s too skinny for his own good.”

Franklin rolls his eyes and goes back to the kitchen. Matt blinds him with the biggest smile ever and despite the pancakes and bacon spilling out of it Franklin can’t help but enjoy it.

“What happened?”

Matt’s mood darkens and proceeds to eat more bacon that he’s piled on a slice of toast with scrambled eggs. He shrugs but doesn’t answer.

“Well,” Franklin begins, ignoring the thumbs up Bess is giving him behind Matt’s back. “You can stay as long as you need.”

Matt shakes his head, cheeks bulging slightly and he reminds Franklin of a squirrel getting ready for winter. Franklin eats a piece of bacon off his own plate and waits for Matt to swallow all his food and speak.

“I couldn’t – I’ll make some calls today and I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

“Nonsense,” Bess steps in, pilling more eggs onto Matt’s already overflowing plate. “You’re staying here and that’s final.”

“Oh, uhm,” Matt blushes and ducks his head, shoveling more food in his mouth so he doesn’t need to keep talking.

“Nah, she’s right, man,” Franklin says. “Just stay here. It’s fine.”

Matt protests a bit more but with the news that Rosalind will be in Germany for the next two months Matt finally agrees.

Franklin still spends most of his days playing videogames or watching movies. Matt listens to audiobooks or to whatever Franklin is doing in a half daze. Some days Matt disappears for hours on end and Franklin has no idea where he goes.

“Where do you go?” Franklin outright asks one morning as Matt is fiddling around on his laptop.

“What do you mean?” Matt deflects and Franklin throws a pillow at him.

“Don’t do that – where do you go?”

“I wander around. Go to the library, the gym, y’know.’

Matt half shrugs and pulls his headphones on. Franklin is well aware of this tactic of Matt’s – he’s not lying but he’s not telling the full truth so he hides behind his headphones and hopes no one will push. Franklin loves pushing. Franklin pulls the headphones off Matt’s head, taking his sunglasses with them, and Matt yelps in protest.

“Nuh-uh. Tell me the full truth.”

“Just leave it alone,” Matt pleads, brown eyes flickering this way and that. Franklin has always been mesmerized by Matt’s unfocused eyes. He pulls the headphones and sunglasses even further out of Matt’s reach.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

It’s silent and Franklin is obviously having a staring contest with a blind man so he gives up, for now. He hands over the headphones and glasses, which Matt takes hastily.

“I will find out.”

The next week Franklin follows Matt. He follows Matt to a Starbucks and then to a little bakery. Franklin makes a mental note to return because that cheese croissant Matt eats looks beyond delicious. Then, Matt heads into Hell’s Kitchen and Franklin eyes every dark corner, every back alley, with distaste.

They stop at a gym, Fogwell’s, and Matt heads inside. An hour later, of which Franklin circled the block about fifty times and Rosalind would be so proud of the exercise he’s getting, Matt exits the gym, sweaty and generally greasy looking. Matt promptly makes his way back to the apartment.

Franklin googles what he can about the places Matt stopped at. The bakery uses organic products and everything is made fresh in house. The gym is a local boxing haven. Franklin is about to give up, thinking maybe the heat rotted paranoia into his brain or something, when a small alumni section at the bottom of Fogwell’s website catches his attention. The name Battlin’ Jack Murdock in particular interests him.

After an hour of falling down an internet rabbit hole, Franklin has learned more about Matt’s life than he thought possible. The most he had known up this point had been that Matt was blind, grew up at a catholic orphanage, and studied too much for his own good. His entire life was what he had been hiding from Franklin and while Franklin couldn’t blame him he was a bit stung.

“Were you never going to mention your father?” Franklin asks, late one night, while lying in bed. Matt shifts on the makeshift bed on the floor.

“Does it even matter?”

Upset for no good reason that Franklin can fathom, he pushes himself up so he’s half leaning out of bed to face Matt.

“Yeah, I think it does. Heck, I don’t know a single thing about you.”

Matt snorts.

“You know a lot about me.”

Franklin does now after his own investigation but he feels like he knew the persona Matt put out there for the world to see, not the Matt he actually is. This pissed Franklin off for a number of reasons. Matt had been able to pull the wool over his eyes, was able to lie right to Franklin’s face and that’s the one thing Franklin hates more than anything – being lied to by someone he trusts and despite outward appearances he had trusted Matt.

“I only know whatever act you’ve been putting on.”

Matt sighs and rolls over to face Franklin. He appreciates the gesture.

“Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Franklin hisses into the dark and he wishes he could see the details of Matt’s face.

“You know exactly what it means. You’re not exactly the most forthcoming about anything.”

Matt sounds so calm to Franklin, like he’s been waiting for this to happen.

“I am very forthcoming.”

“Yeah, sure,” and now Matt sounds exhausted but not from lack of sleep. “You and your supposedly cold heart.”

Franklin lies back down on his bed. 

“Look,” Matt continues. “I know you followed me the other day. From how you’re reacting I’m sure you’ve googled my name from here to kingdom come but don’t act so righteous when you can’t even say that we’re friends.”

“We’re not,” Franklin automatically responds.

“Yeah, I know.”

There’s the rustling from blankets as Matt moves around before it goes silent. Sirens and horns filter up from the streets into the opened window of Franklin’s bedroom. He focuses on those sounds, pretends he’s flying above it all, and falls asleep to nightmares of drowning in pools and falling out of airplanes.

The next day is awkward as Matt and Franklin avoid each other for the most part. At dinner, pizza from down the street, Franklin makes some dumb joke and Matt doubles over with laughter. The tension bleeds out of the air and they go back to how they were before.

“What do you want to do today?” Franklin asks one morning, staring at the ceiling above his bed.

“I dunno,” Matt mumbles from the floor. “What do you wanna do?”

Franklin shrugs.

“I don’t know.”

They also spend their time discussing the future.

“I want to be a defense attorney,” Franklin comments, taking a sip of his beer.

“Not corporate?” Matt questions, tapping the neck of the bottle to some unknown rhythm.

“Nah, although Rosalind will probably set me up in that direction.”

Matt nods, grabbing some nachos from the plate in the middle of the kitchen island.

“I’ll probably go defense, too. Help out the little guys, y’know?”

That seems to sum up Matt to Franklin in a neat little package. Planning his life around the little guy who needs help.

A couple days later, while Matt is taking a shower, Marci calls Franklin up over Skype.

“Matt’s staying with you?” Marci asks. Franklin nods, absentmindedly thumbing through some car magazine.

“Yeah, he needed a place to crash.”

Marci lowers her sunglasses, peering over them like some famous celebrity. Franklin rolls his eyes at her.

“That’s not like you,” she says, pushing her sunglasses back up her nose.

“And that tan doesn’t goes well with your bleach blonde hair but I’m not saying anything,” he replies and glances out of the corner of his eye to see her reaction. Marci’s lips are in a flat line, which means she’s pissed but knows it’s the truth.

“Can you please stop being an asshole for a minute? You don’t need to impress me.”

Franklin sighs and puts down the magazine.

“What else do you want? He needed a place to crash for the night. Bess saw him and you know how she can’t let a stray puppy go.”

Marci frowns and crosses her arms, which draws attention to her bikini-clad boobs. Franklin is not interested at this moment in time.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, flipping back to the Top Gear article he was quite enjoying before Marci called him.

“You like him,” she teases, a slow smirk making it’s appearance. “You really do want to be friends with him.”

“Will that make you happy?” he asks, defiantly staring at Jeremy Clarkson instead of her. “If I just admit that yes, I want to be friends with Matthew Murdock but I’m an asshole who can’t quite get it through my head that I have to be nice to him in order for that to work, would that make you leave me alone?”

Marci does a dance on the hotel bed she’s sitting on. It’s mostly her twisting her upper body around, arms swinging wildly around.

“You like him! You want to bone him!”

“Well, that’s going too far,” Franklin mutters. “I don’t want to bone him. Are you drunk?”

Marci scoffs and Skype makes it go electronic which startles Franklin for a second.

“A bit, and high, but not the point. You’re a twenty-four year old bisexual male, of course you want to bone him.”

“Those are not exclusive,” Franklin points out but then Matt is entering his bedroom, hair slicked down from his shower. Only a large, fluffy red towel is wrapped around Matt’s waist allowing his chest to glisten in the sunlight shining through the window.

“Is he there right now? Oh my god!” Marci squeals and it’s like she’s fourteen again and meeting Leonardo Dicaprio at the mall. “Hi Matt!”

Matt’s head turns in the direction of the laptop sitting on Franklin’s bed. A half grin is tugging at his lips and Franklin stares for a fraction too long.

“Sorry, Marce, you’re a robot,” Franklin explains before slamming the laptop shut.

“Marci having a good time?” Matt questions as he turns back to his suitcase on the floor, digging through it and sniffing at a shirt here and there.

“Not at all. She’s miserable without me, but what can ya do,” Franklin answers, once again going back to his magazine and not focusing on Matt changing in the corner. He apparently was wearing briefs underneath the towel so at least Franklin doesn’t catch a glimpse of anything private.

“Right, sure,” Matt chuckles and pulls some jeans on. “So, I overhead that you want to be friends.”

“Oh, God,” Franklin moans and throws his head down into his pillow. “My reputation is ruined.”

Matt sits down on the edge of the bed, by Franklin’s knees, and laughs.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

“That’s what they all say,” Franklin mutters but sits up anyways. “Fine, I want to be friends but we need to be honest with each other one hundred percent of the way.”

Matt looks guilty already and Franklin gives him the stink eye. How much more could the man be hiding.

“Well, then, I should tell you something.” Matt fidgets; his fingers play with the hem of the shirt he pulled on and Franklin holds his breath in preparation of whatever is coming. “I also heard that you want to bone me.”

Franklin groans and flops himself back onto the bed.

“I’m going to kill Marci.” Franklin pushes himself up with an elbow and fixes Matt with a stare he hopes the man can feel. “Are you attractive? Yes, of course, in a handsome wounded duck way. Do I want to bone you?” Franklin can feel the blush radiating up his face. “Okay, fine, yes, I’m not blind like some people in the room. But it’s like fantasizing about Chris Pine or Jennifer Lawrence or something.”

Matt’s facial features rapidly change from happy to embarrassed to confused right on back through guilty to embarrassed again.

“Oh, well, I-“ Matt tries to says but Franklin holds up a hand and that somehow shuts Matt up. Franklin eyes him suspiciously.

“I’m not looking for a pity fuck, here,” Franklin continues. “Also, can you see my hand?”

Red splashes across Matt’s cheeks as he starts shaking his head so hard Franklin is worried it’s going to go flying off.

“You’re hilarious, I’m blind, I can’t see anything, I could feel the wind currents, you’re ridiculous,” Matt babbles, pushing himself off the bed and retracing his steps out of the bedroom.

“Matt,” Franklin says, low, and climbs off the bed as well to follow him. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing, it’s fine, so-“ Matt stumbles backwards into the wall opposite Franklin’s bedroom and he looks so spooked Franklin stops advancing.

“Matt,” Franklin repeats, gently, and raises his hands in what he’s seen in movies as a calming ‘look I’m not going to hurt you’ gesture. “Buddy. What’s going on here? Are you okay?”

Franklin’s words don’t seem to calm Matt down and considering their on again off again friendship up to this point it doesn’t really surprise him.

“Nothing, it’s nothing, I’m fine,” Matt says and then scurries down the hallway towards the kitchen and obviously the front door.

“Oh no you don’t,” Franklin mutters and charges after him, managing to grab onto Matt’s elbow as they enter the living room.

Franklin feels pain for a split second, like his head just cracked open, and everything goes black.

His eyes shoot open to Bess hovering over his body, black hair sticking straight up on one side like she’s been running her hand through it non-stop. Franklin sits up straight, almost head-butting Bess in the process, to look for Matt.

“Where’s Matt?”

“Oh, honey,” Bess coos and Franklin frowns. She never coos at him.

“Where is he?” Franklin asks again, cooling his voice down to a tone he has never used on Bess before.

“He’s gone,” she says sadly, concern and worry clearly written across his face. “He-he punched you and then just left.”

Matt punched Franklin. That explains almost nothing besides the aching pain in his face. It definitely doesn’t explain the skittish way Matt had been acting, like some scared animal trapped in a corner.

“I have to find him,” Franklin says, determined, and already climbing back to his feet. A bag of peas he didn’t notice falls to the floor.

“You need to stay here and rest, not chase after the guy who just assaulted you in your own home,” Bess sternly tells him and while he’s glad she’s no longer treating him like a five year old he can’t be bothered to listen to her.

“Nope, I’m going, can’t stop me,” Franklin declares while shoving his feet into his sneakers. Bess’ voice carries out the front door and into the hall as Franklin decides to take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.

Franklin doesn’t find Matt at the Starbucks or the bakery or even Fogwell’s and he’s embarrassed to admit that he doesn’t know where else to look. He stands outside Fogwell’s in a tizzy, kicking at old trash littering the sidewalk, wracking his brain for anywhere Matt might have mentioned in the city.

“Foggy?” comes a sweet, female voice from in front of him and he curses when he sees whose approaching him.

“Hello, Anna,” he dutifully says, returning the hug she happily gives him.

“What are you doing here? Are you okay?” Anna asks and Franklin doesn’t hate her, he truly doesn’t. He grew out of that years ago. It was the moment he called Anna a bitch to her face and she couldn’t keep the tears from spilling or the heartbreak from showing on her face. It was that moment in time Franklin realized how much of an influence Rosalind truly had on him and he then started to hate himself instead.

“I’m fine. I’m looking for a friend of mine, Matt Murdock,” Franklin tells her truthfully incase she might know something. It’s a long shot and one that doesn’t pay off once she starts shaking her head mournfully.

“No, sorry, honey,” she says while shifting some grocery bags around in her arms to try and redistribute some of the weight. Anna continues to eye his swollen face with unease.

“Here, let me,” Franklin says and grabs some of the bags from her. They walk back to her house, his father’s home, in silence. They reach the brownstone and Anna pauses one step up.

“He misses you,” she says softly and Franklin thinks for a brief, stupid, second she’s talking about Matt when he realizes she means his father.

“I still visit,” he replies, handing back her bags of groceries.

“Not nearly enough,” Anna tells him.

She thanks him as she makes her way up and into the house. Franklin stares up at the building his father had always lived in for as long as Franklin had been alive. Two thoughts hit him at once: St. Agnes and church.

St. Agnes is a bust, which Franklin kind of expected. His next hope in finding Matt is the church Matt attends which Franklin doesn’t know the name of or the general vicinity it could be in. There end up being a lot of churches in Hell’s Kitchen.

Finally, after what Franklin is pretty sure is two hours of searching, he comes across Matt sitting on a bench outside The Church of the Holy Cross.

“What are you doing here?” Matt asks as Franklin sits down but there’s nothing in his tone that suggests Franklin is unwanted.

“Looking for you and guess what?” Franklin pauses, nudging Matt lightly with his shoulder. “I found you.”

“Lucky you,” Matt mutters and grips his cane a little bit tighter.

They sit on the bench for a few minutes without another word between them. Franklin watches a little girl across the street successfully con her mother into buying two types of ice cream the street cart is selling.

“I’m sorry,” Matt finally says and Franklin shrugs. He feels like he’s matured as he realizes he doesn’t require an apology for anything. But, he still doesn’t voice that out loud.

“I understand if there’s something bothering you,” Franklin says instead and watches with interest how stiff Matt becomes. “And that you obviously don’t want to share with the class. So,” Franklin takes in a deep breath. “That’s okay and I’m okay with that because friends let friends have secrets.”

“Are you expecting some sort of applause or award for that supposedly selfless statement of yours?” Matt responds without missing a beat.

“No,” Franklin spits out. “I’m trying to be a friend here, excuse me if I’m a bit rusty.”

Matt sighs and slouches down a bit on the bench.

“Sorry,” he repeats, face turned away from Franklin.

“It’s fine,” Franklin mutters and runs a hand over his face, wincing as his fingers prod the probably red and bruising area. “Want to head back?”

Matt shrugs but stands anyways. His fingers catch the crook of Franklin’s elbow, startling Franklin but Matt’s grip just tightens. They’ve never done this before; Franklin has never catered to Matt’s blindness. He doesn’t know if it’s because he was selfish, stubborn, or just ignorant. At least he was generally a neat person before meeting Matt.

They get a couple blocks from the apartment before either of them says anything.

“I trust you,” Matt says. “And I know you’ll never trust me if I’m not honest with you.”

Franklin rolls his eyes and replies, “I trust you just fine.”

Matt’s frame tightens up for a brief second before relaxing.

“You’ll always be second guessing everything I do because you know I’m hiding something and you don’t know what it is,” Matt points out.

“Everybody I interact with is hiding something.”

“And do you trust them?”

Franklin ponders that. He doesn’t, not really. He’s grown up in a world where everybody lies to each other’s faces then goes ahead and gossips behind their backs, if literal backstabbing is not involved.

“No,” Franklin says slowly, honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t trust you.”

Matt lets go of Franklin’s arm as they reach the front of the apartment building. They stay silent as they ride the elevator up. Franklin peeks in the front door and is thankful to note Bess is nowhere to be found.

“It’s cool,” Franklin says over his shoulder and pulls the door open further for Matt to enter behind him.

Matt sits down on the couch in the living room and Franklin follows suit, sitting opposite of him. The smell of leather wafts up to him and he hates the white couches. Franklin is surprised they’re still around from the amount of times he accidentally-on-purpose spilled crap on them. The spaghetti incident probably still haunts Rosalind.

“Well,” Franklin starts, relaxing as much as he can. “You seem eager to share so out with it.”

Matt doesn’t stop talking for at least ten minutes and his version of his life is much more exciting than any Wikipedia article. Franklin intently listens. He’s both intrigued and a bit horrified.

“So, you’re really blind?” Franklin follows up with after Matt finishes speaking.

“No light perception,” Matt confirms, nodding. 

“But you can still sense where everything is?”

“In a manner, yes. It’s all air currents and vibrations and stuff.” Matt shrugs and seems oddly at ease about this whole conversation. “Sometimes, clicking my tongue helps.”

Franklin lets out a soft laugh at the image of Matt wandering around clicking at walls.

“And that’s it?” Franklin questions.

“What do you mean?” Matt replies, frowning.

“No other big secrets? I mean, you can obviously tell when I’m lying about shit so let’s get it all out.”

“There’s nothing else, I promise,” Matt says with a soft smile.

“Well, alright then, you big freak,” Franklin grins. “I’m starving, let’s eat.”

Franklin stands up and shuffles his way into the kitchen to look for something to snack on.

“Thanks, Franklin,” Matt says with such honest sincerity that Franklin pauses opening a slice of Kraft cheese singles.

“It’s nothing,” Franklin returns. “And, it’s Foggy.”


End file.
